Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child
by FishingAtTheCreek
Summary: Spain adores Romano, more than anything else. But how will his spiraling sanity affect the one he loves the most? Those who are bad must be punished, after all. Warning for dark themes and abuse.
1. El dolor es bueno

**I. There's no excuse for this one. I just think it was interesting that Himaruya stated that Spain, like Russia, has 'two faces'. He also states that Spain is stern to all countries but Romano. So, this came to be.**

**Enjoy, my lovelies, and please review!**

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><p>There was blood on his shirt. It felt wet and slimy, and as much as he didn't want to enjoy the feeling, he did. He could still hear the screams ringing in his ear, the music that was on repeat every day. There was nothing to like about this lifestyle, so why was he smiling?<p>

Spain couldn't comprehend it. _Reino de España _was about passion and life. What he was doing, that was the opposite.

He heard the familiar pitter-patter of footsteps, and immediately pulled the soaked white shirt off, hiding it behind his back before the source of the steps could see. That was the last thing Spain needed. Any nation could witness how truly pathetic he had become, except for this one. This one mattered.

"Oy, bastard, what took you so long?" the tiny nation asked, a plump tomato grasped in his hand. His apron was stained with various foods, making it clear what he was doing all day. South Italy Romano, the only thing that Spain's frozen heart could still find warmth for. No matter how awful he was or how many things he broke, Spain was good at pushing down his boiling anger for this one. Hopefully, it would stay this way.

"_Hola_, _mi_ Romano. I'm sorry, I had to work longer than expected. But I am back, and that's all that matters, _si_?" he asked, fingers digging into the hidden shirt. He felt the blood ooze onto his fingers, mimicking the tomato juice that was dripping onto his precious boy's fingers. The sight made him sick.

Romano pouted, his cheeks puffing up adorably. "I guess. I'm tired. Tuck me in, idiot." He took another bite of the ruby fruit, before reaching his arms out to Spain. Things like this made the bigger country feel human, instead of the killing machine he felt himself succumb to. He picked the little one up with one arm, ignoring the slew of curses that came with accidentally brushing against his sensitive curl. He was tired as well.

Both were silent as they headed to Romano's room, the southern part of Italy still munching on his beloved tomato, and the Kingdom of Spain wondering how to get rid of his shirt. It was still behind his back, and he didn't want the smaller to see it. Perhaps he would just give it to Belgium. She was so good at understanding his state of being and getting rid of evidence. It was so his little Romano didn't have to see how peaceful his nation really wasn't.

Spain carefully placed Romano on his bed, wrapping him in enough blankets to be more than warm. "There we go. All comfy, Romano? Hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to eat with you! Doesn't that sound nice?"

The Italian scoffed, shutting his eyes. "Whatever, jerk. I don't care."

Spain grabbed the half-eaten tomato, kissing the top of his little nation's head. "_Buenas noches_, Romano." He paused, but only soft snores replied. He left the room silently, shutting the door. He would've liked to keep it open, but Romano always got up in the middle of the night to strip down to nothing, and he screamed that he didn't want Belgium to see that.

Speaking of Belgium, Spain went right to her room and gave her the bloody shirt. She accepted it without question, albeit a concerned look aimed toward him. Then, he went to bed.

He didn't like killing people. But what was he meant to do? His country was broke, and he wouldn't be able to keep Romano if he just let Turkey win. So he had to take drastic measures. But as long as Romano was safe, that's all that mattered.

Spain fell asleep easily, the shrieks slipping his mind as he did.

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><p><em>Spain didn't have a throne. He didn't need all of that, he wasn't a king or anything, he was the literal nation of Spain. Just an office was enough. Yet, as he sat in the scarlet and gold seat, a throne seemed so right. <em>

_He was holding a sword, a detailed one at that, with intricate designs swirled all around. There was also blood. The rust-colored substance seemed to illustrate the designs perfectly. It was so beautiful. He didn't see anything wrong with it. _

_There was a soft knock on the door in front of him. It made him irritated. He wanted to gaze at his beautiful, magnificent weapon for a while, who would dare to bother him? "Come in," he commanded, his voice betraying the soft, gentle lilt he normally had. It was rough and booming, the voice of a conqueror. _

_Belgium walked in, but this woman was somehow different from the cheery nation he knew. Her eyes, usually bright and sparkly, were empty. Her movements were robotic, and she didn't seem to blink. "He needs to be punished," she droned, reaching behind her back and tugging something forward. Whatever it was, it was shaking violently. Belgium pushed it closer to the throne, and Spain could see it was his little Romano. His cute face was twisted into a look of remorse and horror. It shouldn't have looked pleasing to the eye, yet Spain was happy to see it. "Punish him," Belgium mumbled, bowing to him. _

_It all seemed so natural. Spain stood, looking down at the smaller nation. He was so helpless, so terrified. Was he afraid of Spain? The mere thought should have frightened him, but it only made him feel powerful. This was right. _

_He set the sword down, eyes glued to that scared little face. He raised his hand, and Romano tried to step back. Belgium held him in place. With a satisfied smirk, he brought his hand down hard, aimed right for that adorable face. _

_SMACK!_

Spain woke immediately, sitting up in his bed. The sound of him striking Romano was replaying in his head. It was a dream, just a dream. He didn't hurt his precious nation, he was okay.

So why did he have the sudden urge to burst into Romano's room and hurt him? Why did he want to bruise that immaculate skin of his? Why did he yearn to hear the high-pitched cries and pleas he would surely receive?

He shook it off. That was wrong. Spain didn't want to hurt his little tomato, he wanted to protect him. No matter how bad he was, he had to keep him safe. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense to hurt him, just a little bit. So he would be obedient, and keep to himself. It made sense, didn't it? Austria would discipline Romano's brother when he was misbehaving. True, it was with time outs and such, but it still counted.

Spain would wait. He would wait until his tiny Romano did something that absolutely needed punishment. That was fair, wasn't it? It might not even happen.

So Spain got up to make his nation some breakfast. In his heart, he really did want Romano to mess up, just so he could hurt him and get it over with. But he pushed it down. Because that was wrong.

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><p>The months dragged on, and Spain was careful to look out for the naughty things that Romano did. Everything that went wrong seemed to be so harmless, that a beating would have been too much. Broken dish? He had many. Dust collected without cleanup? Belgium would finish it anyway. Rude swears directed his way? That was just Romano's personality. No, nothing that his little nation did would be worth punishment. Of course, that didn't make him disappointed or anything. No, not at all.<p>

However, one blistering hot morning, Spain decided to take a day off from his gruesome job and hang out with Romano. His boss would understand, for he didn't like this job very much either. All he had to do was finish a report on the recent state of the country, which took so very long, but was worth it in the end.

It would have been a perfect day, involving the consumption of many tomatoes and a lazy afternoon siesta.

Why did Romano ruin it then?

It happened when he was walking around the hallways, looking for his tiny tomato. He checked the kitchen and all of the bedrooms, where could he gave gone? As a last resort, Spain went to check his office.

There was Romano, playing happily, so unlike his usual sullen self. It was a nice sight, at first, with the small nation folding papers into different shapes and throwing them in the air. Until Spain got a good look at the papers. They were the ones he spent hours on finishing for his boss. Some were ripped, most were folded. His work, the sole reason he got to stay home. Romano had destroyed it.

The Italian looked up, his face turning sour once he saw who it was. "Oh, it's the jerk bastard. What do you want?"

"Romano..." Spain began slowly, taking a step forward. "Those papers were important. What did you do?"

Romano frowned, clearly unused to the stern tone his caretaker was using. "I was just playing. So what, idiot?" There was a pause. Once he realized Spain was very serious, the smaller got defensive. "Well you should have told me about them! Then I wouldn't have played with them! It's your fault!" he whined.

His fault? _His fault?_ How was that fair? Romano had no right to speak with him in that manner! What was South Italy to the great Kingdom of Spain? Romano was just an ungrateful, lazy...

"_Chigi_! Hey, bastard, don't touch me there!"

...rude, inconsiderate...

"Ow! Stop that! Spain, what are you-"

...weak, disgusting little...

"I'm sorry! There, I said-"

...poor excuse for a nation.

"Please stop!"

Spain blinked, looking around the room. He was still in his office, with papers thrown all around. He heard a soft sniffle, and looked down to a truly grotesque sight. His hand was grasping Romano's curl, the other raised to strike. Romano's little face was wet with tears, his cheeks a stinging red, and scarlet liquid dripping from his nose. The expression he wore wasn't the normally grumpy one. It was fearful.

"I-I'm sorry, Spain. Don't...don't hit me again, please," he whispered, shaking like a leaf. Spain let go of his curl, and the smaller collapsed, loud sobs escaping from his tiny body. For a second, Spain wanted to make them louder. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Romano, burying his face in his soft hair.

"Oh, Romano..._lo siento, mi niño precioso, lo siento,_" he whispered, stroking his back gently. He was shaking as well, for a reason he was unsure of.

"Why did you...I said I was sorry! But you...you didn't even stop! I thought you...I can't..." Romano's breath was quick and ragged. He was afraid. That was to be expected.

"Calm down, _mi tomate_. It's okay. I didn't mean to hurt you like that, I swear, I was just angry. I'll never hurt you like that again!" Spain whispered, hugging him tighter. He didn't think he would feel so guilty for this, yet the feeling wouldn't die down.

Romano pulled away slightly, and looked at him. His cheeks were going to bruise, it would be so ugly. "Promise, bastard. Promise you won't do..._that_ again!"

Spain nodded solemnly, kissing both of his cheeks. "I promise, Romano. Cross my heart and hope to die."

Promises were so easily broken. Even at the time, Spain knew this well.

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><p><strong>HAHAHAHA I'M TRASH. <strong>

**So yeah uh I'm probably going to continue this and it's going to be rated M pretty fucking quickly I gotta say. I love Romano so much tbh. I can't wait to see him _bloody, broken, and bruised_. **

**Goodbye and have fun with whatever this is. **


	2. Mereces esto

**Part two! This part will have a bit more of that wonderfully disturbing content you sick people probably adore. If you love Romano, don't read the rest of this chapter.**

**Okay enjoy**

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><p><em>Tick tock.<em>

_Tick tock._

_Tick tock._

Spain watched the clock, his eyes not moving even a little. He was waiting, he had been doing it for the past hour. Only five more minutes. Five more, and he had to be normal again. How could he possibly do such an impossible feat after so long?

Romano, his sweet little tomato, had promised to visit him today. He sounded so reluctant and grumpy on the phone, but Spain knew it was all a facade. That's how Romano was when he really wanted to do something. He kept it to himself and got angrier. It wasn't to make himself look tough or anything, it was for protection. After being around him for so long, Spain could see why he needed to be safe.

Two minutes had passed, and Spain's heart was pounding. Funny, he had forgotten he possessed a heart for a while. Those small things that made him human were slipping his mind, and it was only getting worse.

Another minute. He hadn't killed in a long time. That was supposed to be happy, yet he felt...disappointed? Was that supposed to be a common feeling to have after so much pain and suffering? Was he supposed to want to feel the blood on his hands again?

Another two. Romano was late. The thought of punishing him for this flickered briefly in his head, before being brushed off entirely. He couldn't hurt Romano again, no matter how much he felt like he could. Romano was a man now, still short and lithe but a man nonetheless. Besides, he had promised he wouldn't do that to him.

Three more. Did Romano remember when he was beaten? Did he ever think about the blows on his cheeks, and the feeling of blood leaking from his nose? Even more, did he loathe Spain for it? The thought of his Romano having burning animosity toward him was unbearable.

Two minutes and a knock at the door. Finally, he was here. Five minutes late, but that wasn't important. No matter how much his mind was telling him to make it important, it just wasn't enough to hurt the love of his life. He rose from the chair, and opened the door, a fake smile plastered on his face. "_Hola_, _mi_ Romano," he chirped, grabbing the smaller nation and hugging him tightly. He was so small. Spain could crush him, if he really wanted to.

Romano leaned into him half-heartedly, for he never really enjoyed hugging. It was more Veneziano's thing than his, but Spain appreciated his attempt no less. "_Ciao_. You're lucky I even came here, I never would've come if I was busy. Plus, my stupid _fratello_ is with that potato bastard. It would be lame to be by myself today..."

Spain chuckled, pulling away reluctantly. "Right. Well, I'm glad you chose me to spend your time with then! _Gracias_!"

"Right," the other scoffed, "well, what do you want to do then? You better have planned something out, because you're supposed to entertain me."

Spain pondered, then brightened immediately. "How about I make you something to eat and then we can take a _siesta_? Would you like that?"

"Whatever. Make me something good, asshole." With that, Romano went to the living room to wait for his meal. Spain rushed to the kitchen, getting started with the preparations. This was the usual schedule; eat, sleep, then Romano leaves. Sometimes they watch a movie or take a walk around his country, but it rarely changes.

If he had to be honest, Spain was afraid of doing anything different. What if Romano did something that made him angry again? They never really talked about what happened, so was Romano just as frightened, possibly even more?

After a while and complaints from his guest, Spain finished preparing a meal for the two of them. It wasn't much, just paella, pa amb tomáquet, and salmorejo. Usually Romano could eat much, much more than that, but his whining prevented Spain from making more. Which resulted in more complaining. Spain could never win with this nation.

Sure enough, once he approached the table, Romano spat, "Is that all?"

"Well, you were being so impatient that I-"

"So now it's my fault? Hmmph! Typical Spain, blaming everyone but yourself," hissed the nation, sitting down and immediately digging in.

Spain was hurt, and more than a little angry. He tried not to blame anyone for his faults, unless they really were the ones who started it. Romano was being unfair, as usual. A small voice in his head practically sang that his little nation needed to be punished for it. For a second, he seriously wanted to. But no, that would be wrong. He needed to stop thinking about it.

So he chattered about mindlessly, telling Romano about whatever popped into his mind. Romano, used to this sort of thing by now, listened and responded with short answers and grunts. He was much more focused on the food he was eating, which must have been very good considering he wasn't criticizing it.

After the plates and bowls were empty and Romano was yawning, Spain cleaned the table up. Isn't that his job, the voice in his head asked sourly. But, with much difficulty, he ignored it. It was his house, Romano didn't live there anymore.

Up the stairs they went, comfortable silence surrounding them. It was actually nice, until Romano spoke up, "Don't you ever clean this place? Everything is so messy and gross."

"If you would like to clean it, be my guest," retorted Spain, surprising the both at how snappy the reply was.

Romano scowled at him, crossing his arms. "What's with the fucking attitude? It was just a question."

Spain struggled to put that smile back on his face. Why was he getting so agitated? "Well, you always have an attitude, Romano. Is it so wrong for the rest of us to have a turn?" Shit, it was meant to sound playful and sweet. But it sounded sarcastic. What was wrong with him?

Romano stopped, his face heating up. "What is that supposed to mean, asshole? I'm rude because I'm under a lot of stress and have to take care of an idiot all the time. What's your excuse?"

"I could say the same thing!" Spain snapped, before he could stop himself. Oh no. That was mean. It was too late to go back now.

Romano's eyes widened, before narrowing sharply. "So I'm the idiot, eh? That's a fucking joke compared to you! You're the stupidest one there is, even more than my brother! Fuck off!" He stormed into Spain's office, because that was the most dramatic thing he could think of. Spain followed, fuming as well.

"I must be stupid, if I really insist on spending time with you! Why do you have to be so cold, Romano, to the only one that can stand you?" Spain shouted, his hands balling into fists. Romano spun around, leaning against the wall and trembling with anger. This was the worst argument they had ever been in. Spain was scared. He didn't trust himself to stay calm.

"Fucking dumbass! _Ti odio!_ _Tu sei il peggiore_!" Romano screamed, stomping his feet as if he was a child again. They were too close, with Spain towering him. It was close enough for Spain to hurt him.

So, to protect him, Spain tried to calm down. "I do not hate you, Romano. I just don't think you appreciate what I've done for you. I raised you, didn't I? You might be a little rude, but I did an okay job, right?" He placed his hands on Romano's shoulders gently, kissing the top of his head.

Romano was silent, before looking up at him. His light green eyes were cold and unforgiving, and Spain knew he wasn't going to give up. "Right. What did you do? You just made me clean and stuff. And you weren't always nice. You fucking hurt me."

Spain froze up. He remembered; why did he think otherwise? Is this why he was so awful to him? Because of that?

"You kept fucking hitting me. Remember that? So don't you fucking dare act like you're the innocent victim, Spain."

His voice was patronizing.

"You're an asshole. I knew what you did back then, you had blood on you all the time. So peaceful, aren't you?"

He was making fun of him.

"You're no better than- no, you're worse than me. You're just a mess, a fucking mess. So I think I have the right to-"

But Romano didn't get to finish his sentence, for Spain gripped his shoulders hard and slammed him into the wall. Then again. Then again, and again, and again. He kept slamming Romano back and forth, ignoring the noises he was making that were supposed to be words.

"Shut up!" Spain shouted each time, relentless. "You deserved it, Romano, just like you deserve it now! You are a terrible, awful person sometimes too! Don't you dare make fun of me!"

He kept slamming the smaller into the wall, until red painted the spot behind his head. His eyes were rolled up, and he was fighting back with the strength of a rag doll. Spain let go of his shoulders, and grabbed his neck instead.

Then, he squeezed. Hard. "You thought it was bad then? You'll be wishing it was only hits and smacks this time. When I'm done with you, you'll respect the great Kingdom of Spain. Is that clear?"

Romano only kept opening and closing his mouth, small chokes and gasps escaping. He clawed the hands that restricted his airway pathetically, kicking his legs in an attempt to stop his ex-caretaker.

"I said, it that clear? Nod your head if you understand, _mocoso."_

Slowly, Romano nodded his head. Spain let go of him, and he fell to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. He didn't look up at Spain, and the other nation couldn't really blame him. If it was before, he would've taken pity and apologized to his Romano with kisses and hugs. But it wasn't before. Spain was too damaged to feel sorry for the nation below him. He only wanted to conquer.

"Look at me," he commanded, and Romano reluctantly obeyed. "Get up." This was obeyed as well. Spain grabbed his arm, pulling him to his desk and harshly bending him over onto the hard, wooden surface. He heard a small whimper come from the body below him, and wanted to laugh at it. How weak, not even putting up a fight. This little thing wasn't the great nation he pretended to be.

Spain pressed against his back, brushing his lips against Romano's ear. "You did this, Romano. I didn't want to hurt you again, but you made me do it. And now, you're going to learn your lesson. Do you know how long I've been waiting for this? To make you understand how horrible you can be? A long time, _mi_ Romano." He dragged his tongue against the shell of his ear, simply because he wanted to.

Romano whined, squirming against him. "_Mi dispiace_," he breathed, tears pooling beside him. "_Abbi pieta, Spagna!_"

Spain laughed against his ear, making him wince. "You're sorry? A little too late for that, hmm? Do not worry, _mi tomate_. I still love you very much. This is for your own good, you understand that, don't you?"

The Italian sobbed, squeezing his tearful eyes shut. "_Sí_," he whispered.

"Do not cry, Romano," Spain crooned, stroking his beloved's hair. "It will be over soon enough."

Romano tried to stop crying, ragged breaths being the only thing he could manage. His head hurt so much, he knew it had to be bleeding. He was already so exhausted, and it was only the beginning. He nodded, thinking that was the response the other man wanted.

"Good," Spain mumbled, feeling the heavy weight of guilt lift from him. Even Romano agreed that this was necessary. Nothing was wrong with this.

He grabbed Romano's sensitive curl, relishing in the cries that were released. "You have ten seconds before the real tears begin."

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><p><strong> Well that was fun. <strong>

**Next chapter: the punishment really begins! Let me tell you, it's going to be really fucked up. **

**I'm up for suggestions, if there's any sort of pain you want to see little Romano go through? Feedback is loved!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Quemado por el amor

**BIG WARNING HERE BECAUSE THIS IS WHEN THE ACTUAL FUN TORTURE STUFF BEGINS. **

**I probably shouldn't bother with this story, due to the lackluster attention it's gotten but I really like writing it. **

**idk I'm dumb. **

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><p>South Italy Romano didn't like many things. He hated his brother, because he was always so happy and everyone loved him. He hated Germany, because he was a bad influence on dumb Veneziano. He certainly hated potatoes and wurst. He just disliked a lot of things. That was what he was known for. He created a mafia, for God's sake.<p>

Spain was never something he hated. Yes, at first he despised him as a child and assumed he just wanted his late grandfather's inheritance, but he grew attached to the tomato-loving moron. Even when he was beaten for being a brat, he still loved Spain with all of his heart.

Even now, as he was bent over a desk and awaiting pain that would definitely come, he still couldn't hate him. His gentle, caring Spain had been replaced with the one he had recurring nightmares over, but he didn't want him to suffer for it. He just wanted the nice one back. But it was too late for him to want.

In his heart, he knew he probably deserved it.

"What would be the best punishment for you, Romano? Oh, you need so much of it, with how you've treated me for so long," Spain whispered, making the smaller squirm anxiously. He just wanted it to be over. But why would he be so lucky?

Then, Spain chuckled. Normally his laughter was soft and sweet, but this time it was the laugh of a serial killer. "I know. How about we start with a bath, to clean you all up. We can wash all that filth away. Would you like that, mi amor? Please say that you would!" Romano could feel his hot breath against his neck. It was the only warmth he could find.

A bath? It sounded innocent. Too innocent. Romano honestly didn't know what to expect from Spain right now, he was unpredictable when he was angry. Though, it wasn't as if he had a choice. He nodded his head reluctantly.

Spain hummed, nipping his earlobe playfully before dragging him out of the office. Romano's eyes drifted to the staircase. He needed to escape. He would leave, give Spain a few days to get over whatever was happening, then wait for him to apologize. Then everything would go back to normal. Easy enough. All he needed was a distraction. How hard could it be?

Unfortunately, once they were in the bathroom, Spain shut the door and locked it. He wasn't as slow as Romano previously thought, that much was certain. Still, the lock was on the inside of the room, so it would take seconds to leave. Hope was the only thing he had right now, and he clung to it tightly.

"Strip," commanded Spain, leaning against the door and crossing his arms casually. The request both shocked and embarrassed Romano. Sure, he usually slept naked, but that was entirely different. He never had been nude around somebody like this. He was a Catholic, that sort of thing was indecent.

"I...I can't," squeaked the Italian, looking away. "I am sorry, but I can't do that, it isn't right. Can't I do something else-"

_SMACK!_

In mere seconds, Spain had slapped him across the face. He didn't even hesitate, his hand moved seemingly on his own. The force of the blow was strong enough to bring Romano onto his knees. That really, really hurt.

He looked up at Spain, and was horrified at how he looked. His eyes, once a pretty bright green, were now an acidic shade. He was shaking, and his face was twisted into the scariest expression possible. "Do not disobey. I will tell you once more, Romano, and you must follow it. _Strip_."

Romano shut his eyes as he started taking the clothes off. His cheek stung badly, he could feel it swell up. He just wanted to wake up and realize this was all a bad nightmare. Once he was completely naked, he brought his legs to his chest and tried to cover himself. If it was a much different situation, being like this in front of Spain wouldn't have sounded so bad.

He felt eyes burn into him, and squeezed his eyes together tighter. Stop looking at me like that. You raised me, you bastard, this isn't right...

"Stand," Spain said slowly. Romano really didn't want to obey to that, but what choice did he have? He would've been beaten if he didn't do it. Somehow, Spain hitting him was worse than any of this. He stood, completely exposed to his insane ex-caretaker. "Good boy. Now, step into the tub. Keep your mouth shut, that's all you have to do. _Sí_?"

Romano nodded once again, stepping into tub carefully. He wasn't sure what do expect. Spain opened one of the closest cabinets and pulled out a wooden bucket. Romano recognized it instantly. Back when he was younger, it was used to dump water on his hair to wash the soap from it. But now...

Spain placed the bucket under the faucet, before turning one of the dials. Water spilled into the container, and Romano allowed himself to relax a bit. This wasn't so bad, was it? He didn't even notice that Spain only turned one of the dials and not both.

Spain picked up the filled bucket with ease. Clearly, he strength never weakened since before. He raised the container, over Romano's head, and looked at him. Truly looked at him. His eyes were cold, and held none of the warm sparks that used to flicker about. He wasn't himself anymore. "Stay still, now," he muttered, and tilted the bucket.

Romano wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't scalding water washing over him. He screeched as it hit his skin, the liquid feeling so hot it was almost cold. He immediately shrank back, but was held in place by Spain.

"You need to be clean, _mi tomate_. One isn't enough. Five sounds better, doesn't it? Hmm? _Cinco, sí_?" he repeated, over and over until Romano was forced to agree. That's all he needed to do, and it would be over soon. Spain grinned, snickering slightly. "You really will look like a tomato afterwards!" Somehow, Romano didn't find this funny.

The bucket was refilled, and the pain came again. He was on fire, he had to be. Only actual flames could hurt so much.

Then again he was doused with the agonizing liquid. Again and again until Spain was happy. It was more than five, it had to be. Spain was lying to him. His skin was raw and it hurt to move.

"There we go," the elder murmured, running a finger across the bright red chest in front of him. Romano bit his lip, hard, but stayed in place. "Almost done. We still have to scrub you. I don't think a sponge will be quite efficient, though. You need something stronger..."

He trailed off, searching in a few of the cabinets for whatever he thought was right. Romano watched, shivering violently. His skin still burned, but he was cold as well. He wasn't sure how to even treat a condition like that, so he simply stayed as still as possible and waited for the eventual pain that would come.

Spain returned with something in his hand. With closer examination, Romano realized it was steel wool. Fuck, that was certainly stronger alright. Spain drizzled whatever nearby soap-like substance he saw first, then grabbed one of Romano's arms.

"This might sting a little. But it's okay. It's only going to clean you up. That's what's important." Then, the steel wool was on his skin and it was a whole new thing of pain. Needless to say, the sharp pricking of the wool did not mesh well with his burnt skin. He tried to be quiet, only emitting tiny squeaks and whimpers. But when he saw blood seeping onto the wool, he shrieked shrilly.

Spain said nothing. Only let go of the mangled arm and went for the next one. The pain came again, with full force. Oh God, please let it end. Make him stop, make him see that this wasn't right! But whatever deity was out there, if there was one, apparently did not get this message. For the other arm was just as bloody as the first in the end. It was as if a cat had gone loose, aiming specifically for his arms.

"Should we do your chest then? Or maybe your back? What do you think, Romano? You may speak." Spain sounded so excited. So genuinely happy to mock him and make him suffer. Did he always dislike Romano enough to do this? Did he hate him all this time?

"No," he rasped, "please stop here. Spain, please, I'm sorry for being a wicked person! _Ti amo, Spagna_. _Ti amo più di ogni altra cosa_!"

Spain smiled. A sickening, crooked grin that was too big for his face. It wasn't the smile that Romano fell in love with, rather the opposite of it. He hated the voice more than he hated Spain. "_Yo también te quiero_, Romano, you know that. But you are not getting off the hook by saying you love me. I appreciate it, I really do, but it just isn't enough. No, I'm not satisfied until you really know how disgusting you can be. Then, only then, will I truly forgive you for all the trouble you've caused me. Do you understand?"

Stunned at the cruel, brutal words his ex-caretaker had told him, Romano simply nodded dumbly in response. Spain had called him disgusting. Maybe he was right. Why did he keep thinking that it was going to be any different if he begged? He was just a lowly, vile, poor excuse for a nation.

No. No, he couldn't think that way, he couldn't let this version of Spain win, he still had a little bit of hope. So, he grabbed that bit of hope, and quickly motivated himself. He pushed Spain as hard as possible, before rushing to the door and unlocking it quickly. He was free, at least from the bathroom. He ran into the hallway and dashed toward the staircase before a heavy force knocked him over.

It was Spain. He had tackled him to the ground, and was now pinning his arms onto the floor. Romano couldn't move. His last bit of hope was shattered. So, having nothing left to lose, he opened his mouth and screamed. Someone had to hear him, right? There had to be somebody.

Spain watched him, an amused expression on his face. He relished in the screams, oh how he had missed them. They sounded angelic coming from his small nation, and he almost didn't want them to cease.

Almost. He hushed him sharply, and the effect was instantaneous. "That was a good try, Romano. You almost escaped. Very impressive, but not quite enough. You were too sloppy, and weren't watching me. You just pushed and ran. That is weak." He laughed, playing with that special curl on his head. "Then again, you and Veneziano were always weaklings, right? It's cute, really. If it were a different situation, I'd spare you. But it isn't."

He stood, dragging Romano to his bedroom by his curl. The screeches and wails that were coming from the tiny nation signaled Spain on how sensitive that particular piece of hair really was. He'd have to research more on that eventually.

He shoved Romano against the wall, before punching him in the jaw easily. He then aimed for his nose, his mouth, and so on. Blow after blow, listening to the sounds they caused and changing them, like radio stations. He stopped once he saw blood drip down his nose and the corner of his lips.

"Ah, your pretty face. What a shame. Though, I must say, it looks even better torn up and bloody. I might've considered letting you go after cleaning you, but I think you deserve more after trying such a stunt. Do you agree, Romano?" he inquired, tilting his head in an exaggerated way. He was making fun of him. Romano guessed he had the right to. Spain had won. He had to accept his position, or else things would just be more painful. Romano, after much too long, was giving up.

"Yes," he whispered, wincing as the warm, sticky red fluid dropped from his nose onto the carpet in short waves. Just agree with him and move on, it would get by quicker that way. If he was the obedient, doting victim Spain wanted him to be then maybe he would get off easy. Perhaps with a little rest, he would be able to return home without having Veneziano cry over his wounds. He could try to erase this memory, and him and Spain could go back to normal. Just like before. Sure, the nightmares would come, and he wouldn't be able to sleep alone for a few centuries, but still. Things would be okay.

Spain stroked his bruised jaw, cooing in a sickening sweet voice, "That's a good boy. See, is it really that hard to obey me? You just like being difficult, don't you? I can change all of that. When I'm done, you'll be perfect. The perfect henchman I always wanted. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Through his tears, Romano forced a smile and nodded. His words weren't as harsh as before, but they still promised more agony for him. Still, he already burnt him and scrubbed his arms into shreds, what more could he do?

Spain leaned in, until their noses were touching. He said, in a mean little voice, "I'm going to fix you. But to do that, we'll need to rip you apart and put you back together again. Sound good?"

The words he used made the blood drain from Romano's face, more so than the blood that had already trickled from his nose and mouth.

"It will be okay, _mi amor_. We'll do it together. We'll break you as one."

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><p><strong>HAHA WOW WHAT IS WRITING EVEN<strong>

**So hey if you didn't know steel wool is a bundle of very fine and flexible sharp-edged steel filaments. It's mostly used for polishing wood, cleaning random household objects, etc. Also, it hurts a lot when scrubbed hard on skin and is not recommended. **

**The more you know. **

**A guest was the one who suggested Romano being burnt with water and I just added the steel wool part because I really like that for some reason. If you haven't guessed already, I'm total trash**

**So poor Romano isn't finished with his punishment yet. What else do you want him to go through? Let me know! Spanking has been brought up, thoughts on that?**


	4. Yo no soy nada

**Wow, you guys had some...neat suggestions. We're all in this together I guess. I'll see you all in Hell where we'll probably make more of this trashy fic together because holy shit you people. **

**Thank you I love all of you god bless.**

* * *

><p>Everything hurt. His nose, his mouth, his cheeks, his neck, his arms...everything. There seemed to be marks on every single part of his body. But his heart, the thumping organ that he could feel and hear at this moment, hurt worst of all. Because the person he loved most in this world was causing the worst pain imaginable. The only thing he could do was wait for more.<p>

Spain was staring at him. Romano didn't like the look in his eyes. It wasn't the crazy or dangerous spark he had minutes before. It was hunger. Pure, vicious hunger. Somehow, even though he had just taken a bath (or this Spain's version of a bath) the look made him feel dirty.

Romano shifted, building up the courage to speak, "Spain? Could...could I put something on? _Per Favore_? I don't like being like this..."

Spain blinked, looking slightly put off. He obviously wasn't expecting his victim to talk. "Hmm...I guess that would be fine." He brightened suddenly, his sickly green eyes lighting up. "I even have an outfit you can wear. Wasn't that nice of Boss?"

Romano responded with a jerk nod and a fake smile. Spain grinned back at him, standing and going over to his spacey walk-in closet. Romano considered running away, but he was too tired to try again. He just wanted to get this over with.

Spain returned, a folded outfit in his hands. "Put this on. I am going to get some things. Then, we can begin fixing you, _mi tomate_. Don't you dare try to leave, Romano, or I'll make this worse than it has to be." Spain handed him the clothes and kissed his head before leaving the bedroom. He slammed the door, hard, but didn't lock it this time. Why would he? He knew that Romano wouldn't be stupid enough to try again.

Romano laid out the clothes, soon realizing what they were. One of his old maid outfits, specifically the one that he wore the day he grew up. It had been stretched out terribly, but it was still in good condition. God, it wasn't even his apron or his nightgown, it was an actual dress. Belgium made him wear it, getting the idea from Hungary, and how could he refuse the pretty lady?

Horror slowly trickled into his mind as he had another realization. This sick, twisted Spain hadn't just bought this outfit or anything. The kind Spain, the one he knew and loved, had saved this. He had put it into his closet, this wasn't a spur of the moment deal. So...was there a difference between this Spain and the one he knew? Was it possible that they were really the same person, with the same thoughts and desires? Did that mean his lovable, goofy Spaniard had been planning for this day? No. No, he couldn't believe that, he wouldn't. Spain didn't know what he was doing. He had to keep that mindset. That was the only way he could survive.

So he put on the dress, a brown blouse below it. It was tight, and the skirt barely touched his knees. Still, it wasn't the worse. Why did Spain want him to wear this?

Romano jumped as the door swung open, and his ex-caretaker walked back in, a large wooden chest in his arms. He dropped the chest and examined Romano, smiling happily. "Ah, you look so adorable. Like the good little boy I always wanted!" He tilted his head slightly. "Your headscarf is missing. Put it on, it will complete the look!"

Romano nodded, putting the scarf over his head and tying it the best he could with shaking hands. There was something really wrong about all of this. Why did he have to wear something as embarrassing as this? Was this supposed to make him be more obedient? It just made him bashful.

"Perfect," Spain mumbled, looking at Romano lovingly. "So pretty, _mi amor_. Go and lay down on the bed, okay? Then we can begin! It will be so great, Romano, you'll be an entirely different nation when I'm done with you."

The Italian nation did as he was told, sitting on the bed and slowly laying back. He had nothing underneath the dress, Spain didn't give him any underwear. He tightly pushed his legs together, so Spain couldn't see anything.

The man took something out of the chest, and approached Romano. He looked almost disappointed. "I'm going to blindfold you. I'm going to miss your pretty eyes, but it'll only be for a while. Besides, isn't it more fun this way?" Without waiting for another hollow answer, Spain simply put the blindfold on, tying it in seconds. Romano could not see anything, and that frightened him more than all that had happened.

He heard footsteps, and then loud rattling. What was that? Whatever it was, it was slowly getting closer to him. Spain grabbed one of his arms and slammed it against one of the corners of the bed, before tying it against the headboard. But this wasn't rope that was keeping him in place.

It was chains. Spain was actually using chains to keep him in place. Soon, his other arm was restrained, before both of his legs followed. He was in the most submissive position imaginable, even he knew it without looking. For a long minute, there was silence. Was Spain still in the room? Did he just leave him there to rot?

Then he felt a warm, calloused hand cup one of his cheeks. A rough, toneless voice spoke next, "So cute. You're so adorable, Romano, I've always thought so. Now that you're an adult, I think it's okay if you know exactly how desirable you are to me. You should understand how much I want to have you for myself."

The hand moved down to his chest, and Romano wondered if it felt his hammering heartbeat through the dress. "You are irresistible sometimes. I always have to remind myself to stop, because you are too precious to me. But perhaps it will help if you understand. Maybe you'll like it. I'll make it good." Something warm and slimy dragged up Romano's cheek. He realized horrifically that it was Spain's tongue. He was licking him as the hand slid up the skirt and squeezed Romano's thigh.

"No," whispered the tied up nation, tears dripping out from his blindfold, "Spain, don't, please. I can't do this, you know I can't, it'll go against my religion. Anything but this..."

Spain didn't stop. He didn't even hesitate. He laughed, kissing the tears that tried to escape down Romano's cheeks. "Please. You've always been a terrible Catholic. Would it really even matter? You want it. You're even getting hard, and I have barely touched you. A natural whore, that's what you are."

Now that really hurt. Romano had taken pride in being completely pure and untouched. He had always stayed away from women that were too suggestive and he had slept with his hands above the covers. Maybe the idea had come to mind, numerous times, but he never acted out on it. This would ruin him. Maybe Spain knew that, though.

The hand kept going up, until Spain was groping the forbidden place that Romano maybe would've been okay with, if he wasn't chained up, blindfolded, and frightened. He flinched and squirmed violently.

"Stop...Spain, please don't..." he begged, rattling the chains loudly. He felt Spain's free hand on his chin, forcing his mouth open.

"Shh...you need to stay quiet," his ex-caretaker mumbled, before the hot tongue that was previously on his cheek delved into his mouth.

Romano tried to ignore the feeling of Spain's hand stroking his cock, he really did. But as much as he wanted to keep himself pure, he couldn't deny how good it felt. In his mind, he kept telling himself how wrong this was, but his body wanted more. His hips jerked up suddenly, and it made him squeak pathetically.

Spain pulled away, and Romano could feel his saliva slide down his chin. "Oh, so you don't like it? _Qué sucio mentiroso_!"

Romano whined, shaking his head fervently. "I don't like it, Spain, I don't! Just fucking stop already!" Spain did the exact opposite of that. His hand moved down from Romano's cock to his entrance, and he rubbed a finger against it slowly. The Italian nation sobbed, kicking his legs pathetically.

He felt Spain's lips brush against his ear, and his teeth grazed the shell. "_Dime que te folle_."

"No!" yelled Romano immediately. He couldn't do that, it was too much. If he did what Spain told him to do, he'd truly have nothing. Not his faith, not his dignity, nothing. The nation above him grabbed his curl, making Romano moan out involuntarily. Two fingers roughly slid inside of him, making him scream. It felt weird, it stung, and he didn't like it.

"_Dime que te folle," _he repeated calmly, and the smaller nation felt his tongue drag up the curl, the fingers thrusting rhythmically inside of him. It was too much, he couldn't take it. He was going to come if Spain kept playing with him like this. "It will only be worse if you don't. I'll make it hurt more."

Romano wailed, trying one more time to break the chains. Nothing. So, in a trembling voice, he muttered, "Fuck me, _Spagna_..." Just like that, everything slipped away from him.

"_Buen chico_. That's what I want to hear. I don't have any lube with me, though. So we'll just have to use what we have, won't we?" Spain chuckled, and Romano had no idea what he could possibly mean by that. He heard a zipper, and then Spain shuffled a bit above him. Then he was kneeling on his chest, and something poked the Italian nation's cheek. It all suddenly clicked, and Romano shut his mouth tight. "Aw, don't be like that, Romano. You only need to get it wet enough so I can fuck you without it hurting too much._ Abre tu boca, mi tomate_."

Romano whimpered, but reluctantly obeyed the man's orders. As his lips parted, what poked his cheek slid into his mouth, none too gently. This was Spain's cock. It was in his mouth. These simple facts made him nauseous, and he felt like he could throw up. It didn't help that the tip hit the back of his throat, making him gag slightly.

"My bad, _querido. _Come on then, make sure it's nice and wet." Clearly struggling to do so, Romano closed his lips around the base of Spain's dick, trying to coat it with spit as quick as possible. He could hear Spain's heavy breathing and groans above him and it did nothing to make the experience any less uncomfortable.

The minutes went on, and Romano was afraid that the nation above him would finish on his face. He wasn't sure he could handle that. Luckily, his mouth was soon free from the appendage, and he heard Spain chuckle. "Was that really so bad? Okay, now we get to do the fun part. Ready?"

Romano didn't answer, and Spain didn't bother making him. Suddenly, the chains were gone from his legs, and they were being lifted and spread. Naturally, Romano started hyperventilating, trying to kick the bigger nation. Instead of slapping him again, Spain simply pushed the tip of his cock against Romano's entrance, and pushed in mercilessly. It was then that Romano screamed, louder than before and more tearful too.

It was like he was getting split in half. It hurt so fucking much and it wasn't what he was expecting sex to be like at all. He was told before it was uncomfortable, but he would much rather be dead than feel anything like this. He felt Spain's hands around his head, and the blindfold was off and now he had to look at his abuser right in the face.

Spain slowly pulled out of him, before slamming back in. Romano screeched, tears continuously spilling from his eyes. He sobbed with each thrust, even though the pain started to lessen and the pleasure came. It didn't matter. It still hurt, because it was still Spain doing this to him, humiliating him the worst way possible. There was also the possibility that this Spain was his Spain, that they really were the same person with the same desire to hurt him. That hurt more than anything.

"_Mírame_," his love whispered, in a voice that was too gentle for this kind of thing. "_Te amo_. _Eres mía_." This only made everything worse. How could he say such kind things while doing this? That was even more atrocious than the act itself. He wanted it to stop.

It did. Spain kept rocking back and forth into him, until he came. Romano could feel it spill inside of him, and it was more that than anything that made him orgasm right after his ex-caretaker. When he did, when the white liquid spilled from him, he felt everything shatter before him. His love for Spain, his pureness, his religion, everything. Nothing mattered anymore.

So his tears stopped, as did his sobs and his voice. He laid there, unable to feel any sort of emotion. He was just alive, that's it. There was nothing else for him to feel, nothing for him to hope for anymore. He was a shell.

He was nothing.

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><p><strong>HAHAHAHAHA I'M SUCH AN ASSHOLE<strong>

**Hey I got lots of crazy torture ideas. I'll do one or two more chapters of those before poor Spain comes to his senses. **

**Also, Romano getting his nails ripped out: yay or nay? I'm still up for suggestions!**

**ok bye my trash children.**


	5. Niño malo

**WARNING HERE BECAUSE DENAILING TAKES UP ONE-THIRD OF THIS CHAPTER AND IT'S PRETTY DAMN GROSS**

**ALSO FAIR AMOUNT OF BLOOD**

**Based on your feedback, most of you children don't wanna see any nail pulling. As a compromise, only like one will probably be pulled, because that is some awesome torture right there and as the trash queen, I'm not gonna give it up. Plus, it isn't going to be very detailed, because my writing abilities are limited. **

**I better get a crown for this shit. **

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><p>Spain gazed into Romano's light green eyes curiously, trying to look for any form of life. Nothing. His little nation's stare was blank and empty. Among his cruel emotions, there was a bit of concern for the Italian. It wasn't like countries could die, could this be an exception?<p>

"Romano? _Mi tomate_?" Spain mumbled, poking one of his bruised cheeks. The smaller twitched, indicating that he was still alive. He was just beginning to break, which was good. It meant he was changing for the better. The thought of letting him go briefly passed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. He wasn't done yet. There wasn't a specific goal he had in mind, he would just know when he was done, and it wasn't now.

He removed the chains and dragged Romano off the bed by his leg, the nation doing nothing to stop him. All that escaped was a small whimper when his head hit the floor, but nothing else. Spain propped him against the wall. "Ah, you're so good, Roma. Do you see how much this is helping you? Do you understand why I'm doing this? Speak to me, mi amor, tell me that you know."

Romano opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He didn't nod his head or give him a vague 'mmhmm'. He stayed silent, and didn't flinch when Spain took his hand.

"_Háblame_. Do not stay quiet, I am allowing you to speak." The Spaniard kissed each of Romano's fingertips, urging him with each peck to talk. The smaller's fingers twitched, but there was no other movement from the seemingly catatonic nation.

Spain's gentle demeanor dissolved, and he gripped the other's hand tightly. He could hear tiny cracks emitting from his grip, but if it was hurting his beloved, it didn't show. Romano's head rested against his shoulder, and he was as responsive as a ragdoll. It made Spain furious. Inconsiderate brat. He was given the opportunity to speak to the greatest nation of them all, and he wasn't even looking at him! He deserved to be hurt further. He needed to be torn up until he was truly nothing.

He reached over, grabbing the treasure chest and rummaging through the contents for whatever he felt was perfect. Whips, knives, restraints, guns...all seemed too lenient for his naughty little tomato. He smiled as he found the perfect tools, looking over at the empty nation excitedly. "You're going to be perfect after this, Roma, I promise. This kind of pain can change anyone!"

After taking a small metal rod with a pointed top and a mini hammer from the chest, Spain grabbed one of Romano's hands tightly, gazing lovingly at it. "Such pretty, delicate hands you have. They're so smooth. But that's probably because you never do any work to rough them up." He kissed his love's index finger, before carefully wedging the pointed top of the rod under Romano's nail.

The Italian nation must have realized what he was doing, for he started making frantic sounds and shaked his head desperately.

"Oh, now you want to talk? Too bad. You're not going to say a word, not even when you feel the worst excruciating pain. Which you will," he practically sang, pushing the rod in further. Romano whined, but soon returned to his previous state within seconds. Spain was impressed with his stubbornness, if anything.

He raised the tiny hammer, smiling nastily at the nation. His nation. He had conquered this weak, helpless thing within less than an hour. He still had his power, he was still the great Kingdom of Spain. All thanks to his beloved.

He slammed the hammer onto the rod, hard, and was overjoyed at the sight of Romano holding in his screams. His nail wasn't off completely, but hanged loosely off the finger. Spain simply grabbed it and tore it off himself. In an attempt to make Romano feel better, he licked the blood off of the now bare finger. It was so naked, so vulnerable. Just like his little tomato.

Spain grinned maniacally, holding up the torn fingernail. "How was that? Was that good enough to get you to speak? Hm? Answer me."

Even though his finger was still bleeding profusely, and he felt like he was going to pass out from the pain, Romano said nothing. He wanted to leave, he wanted to go home, where his little brother would be waiting. But he couldn't speak to Spain anymore. He couldn't. He was afraid that if he did, he'd truly lose all of his freedom. Spain might not let him leave ever, trapping him as some obedient plaything. Maybe, if he resisted, Spain would give up on him.

Spain snarled, grabbing Romano's lacy collar and pulling him close. "Speak. Now," he commanded sternly. When the trembling nation still stayed silent, Spain slapped him sharply. "_Malo! Desconsiderado! Sin valor!_" He digged his nails into his cheeks, pulling and tugging until blood ran down his fingers and onto his arms. It was warm, comforting even. It allowed Spain to think clearly, and he knew what he had to do. He grabbed Romano's curl and slammed him onto the floor, face up.

"You don't want to talk, you filthy brat? Fine. You won't be able to talk ever again then. I'll make sure," promised Spain, walking to the bed and reaching under the bed for something. Boots. The heels of the footwear were tall, and made of metal, which contrasted the rest of the leather material. Spain slid them on easily, looking strangely thoughtful. ""I've used these on many of my victims. Whether they be enemies or my own people. It's usually the last thing I get to do before they finally die. I know you cannot die, Romano. But let's see what's the next best thing, okay?"

Spain stood, and Romano watched him groggily. He felt like he could fall asleep at any moment. Even with all of his pain and disgust, he could easily rest right about now. He saw the metal heel approach him, and thought nothing. That is, until it was on his neck. Then, his mind sprung into action.

He sputtered, blood soaking his face and the boot in front of him, and flailed his arms. Spain only pressed harder on his throat. "I almost wish you could die, mi amor. I wish that the last thing you see, the last thing you feel, is me. Me, above you. Always and forever." Romano could hear the bones in his neck snap, and his eyes rolled up, seemingly on their own. He should have been dead. He wished he was.

Soon, his arms fell to his side, and his loud sputters softened. He was losing conscienceness. God, he wanted it to come quickly. Please, God, let the pain end, he was going to go insane if it didn't end. If this kept going on, Spain would crush his neck completely...

Everything stopped when the phone rang.

There was a pause, and Romano soon felt the pressure on his neck lessen. It still hurt terribly, but at least it couldn't be worse. A small smile found its way to his face, before he passed out entirely.

Spain went to the hallway, where his phone was ringing cheerfully. He wasn't expecting any calls today, who could it have possibly been? He pressed the receiver against his ear, greeting in an eerily normal voice, "_Hola_?"

"_Ciao_, big brother Spain!" chirped Veneziano, "Sorry to bother you, but do you know where Romano is? I think he said he would be visiting you today, but it's getting late and I'm worried!"

Spain grit his teeth, irritated. He forgot about Veneziano. How could he slip up so easily? Of course the northern nation would be curious about his brother's whereabouts. He should have planned this all out before deciding to do it. "Ah, Romano left a while ago! He still isn't home? That's strange..."

He heard the other nation whimper softly, and it almost made him feel a little guilty. "I hope _fratello_ is okay! I know he was angry about me hanging out with Germany, but it isn't like him to be late like this! He always tells me where he goes..."

"Do not worry, Veneziano. I'm sure he'll be home soon. I'll try to find out where he is, and I'll call you if I find out. How does that sound?"

Immediately, the worried tone was replaced with an excited one, "Grazie, big brother! I knew you'd be the best one to call! Tell me if you find him, okay? Maybe we could all get together and have some pasta! Sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

Spain smiled, despite his annoyance. "Sí, that sounds wonderful. Well, I'll try to find out where Romano is. Have a nice day, Veneziano."

"You too, big brother Spain! Bye, bye!"

Once he heard the dial tone, Spain slammed the phone down, breathing heavily. He was suddenly paranoid. What if Romano's brother came here to look for him? Then everyone would know what he did. He would be punished, sent off somewhere, and wouldn't be able to see his sweet little tomato ever again. He wouldn't let it happen.

So he ran to the bathroom, to grab the clothes Romano first arrived in, before hurrying to the bedroom. The sight was downright gruesome, more so then he remembered. Romano was practically covered in blood, from his hair to in between his legs. Spain gazed at him, before going over to one of the bedside dressers and pulling out a small camera. He needed this memory, he wanted to remember his lover like this so badly. He snapped a quick photo, before getting back into action.

He carefully pulled off the maid dress, bringing up to his face and inhaling deeply for a good minute. He tugged the headscarf off, tossing the whole outfit under the bed, along with his treasure chest and the boots he used to practically destroy Romano's neck. He would have to find a better hiding spot later.

With much difficulty, he put the nation's original clothes back on his limp body. Sliding an unmoving arm through a sleeve was a lot harder than it looked. Once all of the clothes were on, he picked up Romano and headed out.

The plan was simple. Spain would drive Romano to his house and leave him on the doorstep. If Veneziano asked, he would play dumb, maybe cry a little to make sure he didn't seem like a suspect. Then he would help heal Romano, apologize, and everything would be normal. Things could return to the way they were again.

Once he was halfway to the Italies home, he heard the nation beside him cough and gurgle loudly. Seemed like he was awake. Spain chose not to say anything yet, just ignore the sounds of confusion.

When he arrived at the big, beautiful house, he stopped the car and sat there for a minute, thinking. He could always leave, and take Romano with him. They'd be together forever, no brothers able to disturb them. But that wasn't right. He wouldn't be able to do that, it was too evil. His poor little nation had suffered quite enough. For now, anyway.

He grabbed Romano's shoulders, tugging him onto his lap. His eyes were open, but only barely. Blood was still pouring from his mouth, and there was too much blood for Spain to find an expression. He whispered soothingly, "You've been such a good boy, Romano. Such a very good boy. You're going home now, okay? Don't tell anyone about our training. It would make boss very angry, you know? Just stay quiet. I love you, Romano, I'm sure you understand why I had to do this. Those who are bad must be punished."

With that, he carried his love out of the car and toward the house, kissing the top of his head with each step. He laid him in front of the door, ringing the bell a few times before running back.

As Spain was driving away, he heard Veneziano's piercing scream echoing throughout the entire country.

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><p>Spain was a good person. He had his faults, but didn't everybody? No nation was perfect, it was just impossible.<p>

This comforted him as he cleaned up Romano's blood, washing it away as he hummed a happy tune. What he did was for the good of the one he loved the most. He truly believed this. Maybe people would see it as unfair or crazy, but they didn't know discipline. They were probably the ones who threw a hissy fit over spanking a child. But they didn't understand.

Discipline only shaped a child, in a way that was good if you did it right, but dangerous if you went wrong. Beating a child everyday of their life? That was abusive, that would only warp their little minds and make them afraid of everything. But nice, hard punishments that only occurred when the child is truly bad? Those were necessary. They needed to understand the consequences for their behavior.

'He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him'. That was in the bible, right? Surely Romano could understand why he did this. Wasn't he whining earlier about being a Catholic?

Those who are bad must be punished. He should know more than anyone.

That night, Spain didn't stay up until the wee hours tossing and turning. He didn't replay the sounds of Romano's hysterical screams or his pitiful begging. Nor did he have the image of his beloved nation's torn up neck stuck in his mind. Spain slept easy that night, better than he had in decades. Strangely, what he had done had caused tranquil rather than guilt. He was happy. He was truly content.

Spain wasn't a bad person.

Spain was a very, very good one indeed.

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><p><strong> THE END<strong>

**JUUUUUST KIDDING! We still need to check on little itty bitty Romano! **

**Fun fact: the way Spain removed Romano's nail is how they actually did it in Spain during the medieval ages. **

**It's great to learn. CAUSE KNOWLEDGE IS POWER. **

**Ok great bye I love u trash children. **


	6. Mi tomate

**Here it is, the last chapter. I can't believe I actually finished something wow. I gotta say, this was a great story to write, as strange as that sounds. Who knows, I might pick this idea up again someday. **

**I've found my weakness, and it is psychopathic Spain. God bless. **

**Well, I hope you enjoy the final chapter!**

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><p>North Italy Veneziano was usually a very happy nation. Why wouldn't he be? He had the greatest friends, the best music, and the most delicious food! Sure, his southern half was a bit more grumpy, but Veneziano knew Romano wasn't incapable of being content. He had his own ways of being happy, and Veneziano respected that. Yes, everything seemed perfectly fine for the excitable nation.<p>

Until now.

His poor brother, found on his doorstep in a horrifying condition. The skin on his arms was raw, bruises decorated every part of his body, his neck was nearly crushed to a pulp, and one of his fingernails seemed to have been ripped off. This was no accident, Veneziano wasn't stupid enough to think that. Someone intentionally hurt Romano. Suddenly all the happiness inside him vanished, misery taking its place.

He had fixed his older brother up the best he could, Japan and Germany assisting him throughout. Strangely, Romano didn't react negatively when Germany touched his bruised skin. He didn't react at all, actually. He kept looking up at the ceiling blankly, not even acknowledging Veneziano when he tried to engage him in a conversation. His brother had been broken, and the younger half didn't know if he could fix him. He had tried finding out what had happened when the elder had left big brother Spain's house, but his whole body would tremble and his eyes would roll up whenever the subject was brought up. It was scary, and made Veneziano cry.

Veneziano was quick to inform every nation who'd listen about the vicious attack, and all had reacted predictably, with gasps and groans of disgust. America had even offered to supply a few of his detectives, which blossomed an argument between him and England about who had the best crime system. A few other nations offered their help as well, and the northern half of Italy was delighted. Truly, he had the best kind of friends!

One nation that seemed particularly disturbed by the news was Spain. Veneziano expected this, considering big brother Spain was closest to Romano, but he thought it was strange how Spain was quick to hang up, and hadn't called back since. When he told Germany about this, the larger nation concluded that Spain was devastated most of all, and didn't want to be bothered. Soon, he'd come around. Though Veneziano still thought the behavior of the Spaniard was suspicious, he quickly accepted the theory.

Veneziano comforted Romano with this, promising that Spain would come over soon, and he'd feel better after that. He listed all that they would do together, the dreamy expression on his face continuously present. Although neither bothered to tell Veneziano, both Japan and Germany noticed how Romano would flinch every time Spain's name was said. They gave each other a knowing look, and bowed their heads simultaneously.

They informed everyone else but Veneziano about this theory. By the end of the day, each nation of the world was figuring out how to go about this new problem.

* * *

><p>Spain knew he would feel guilty after all that had happened between him and Romano, but he didn't think it would feel so...forced. Truthfully, he wouldn't have given it a second thought, but a voice in his head was urging him that he had to so...he obeyed. He mourned his favorite little nation, trying to think up ways to properly apologize to him.<p>

Then again, shouldn't Romano be the one apologizing? He was the one who provoked Spain, this all would've never happened if he would have just behaved like a good little boy. Also, why was he being so dramatic? Veneziano said he wouldn't talk or even look at him. He probably just wanted the attention, the brat. It took most of Spain's strength to calm down, because nothing would be better if he got angry again.

Shortly after Veneziano informed him, other nations began to reach out. Even England, his least favorite of the countries, asked how he was doing. It was suspicious, and paranoia came to him quickly. They knew, they all knew what he did. Romano probably told them. Oh, how he would regret it. He'd wish that countries could die after Spain was done with him.

Begrudgingly, Spain accepted an offer from France and Prussia to hang out. They were his best friends, after all, he couldn't outright deny them. Besides, surely both were far too goofy to bring up such a serious topic. They'd just come over and get drunk and start gossiping. Like always, right?

Wrong.

The two arrived looking eerily solemn, and both turned down Spain's offer of beer and wine. That really ticked the Spanish nation off. Of course, they weren't here because they were friends. They were here because they were nations (well, France was anyway).

"...I'm sure you heard about what happened with Romano," began France, once they were in the dining room around the huge table. Spain had given both some paella, but they weren't eating it.

He feigned sadness, eyes averted and wet with tears. "_Sí_. I just...don't understand who would do such a thing to Romano. I know he can be a little bratty, but he means well!"

Prussia nodded, twirling his fork mindlessly. "I don't think I've ever seen a nation be brutally beaten like this. I mean...he was scrubbed raw, beaten, humiliated, violated, denailed, and almost had his neck crushed. Not awesome."

France gave him a dirty look, before smiling at Spain sympathetically. "Veneziano says he isn't in any condition to talk to us, so...maybe you could help out? You were the last one to see little Romano, did he seem off to you? Maybe he mentioned meeting someone after his visit?"

Relaxing slightly, Spain shook his head, trying to look thoughtful. "Hmm...I don't think so. It was like any normal visit. We ate, we slept, and then Romano left. I'm sorry, I don't think I'm much help."

He waited for a reaction, but only received stares. It was obvious they didn't believe him. France took a hesitant bite of the paella, before finally responding, "We're just a little worried, _ami_. Because...well...you're the only one who has a history of hurting Romano..."

Spain twitched a bit, his hands balling into fists. He only told three people about beating Romano when he was little, and that was Belgium, France, and Prussia. All were weary of the information, but agreed to keep it a secret. "That was only once. I promised I wouldn't do it again. You didn't tell the others, did you?"

Prussia shook his head slowly. "_Nein_. But we all promise things we don't mean. West promised he wouldn't invade Czechoslovakia, and look what happened then. We're just...worried, Spain. We wouldn't be mad if you did do it, but..."

"But you would think less of me," finished Spain bluntly. He was angry. Actually, he was downright furious. Who were they to accuse him? Two nations that used to be great, but succumbed into nothingness. Only one was still a nation, in fact. They had no evidence. None. "I cannot believe my friends would do this to me. How do you think I feel? My sweet, little Romano has been hurt! And you have the nerve to accuse me of doing it?"

The two looked at each other, before France cleared his throat and said, "But you cannot deny what we have. You have hurt him before and...Romano flinches at the mention of your name. Please, just tell us the truth."

Spain looked at them both, and then genuine guilt pierced him. What was he doing? He couldn't lie to his dear friends. He looked down, tears sliding down his cheeks slowly. "I didn't...mean to. My lovely, cute Romano...he was just so mean. So...so, I..." He let out a shaky, hysterical laugh. "I fixed him. I made him the perfect henchmen. He's so good now, isn't he? So quiet...so obedient...I only hurt him because I love him. You understand love, don't you, France?" He looked at the put off nation, grinning so wide that it ached. "He is everything to me. I don't want him to be rude, or some other nation will destroy his country because of it. I did him a favor." The small bit of guilt that he felt was completely gone.

He looked at both of him, both of his friends. His kind, understanding friends. Both looked so pale and disgusted, it seemed almost unreal. France was the first to stand up. "That is not the kind of love I teach, Spain."

Spain nodded, still smiling. "We all have different interpretations of the word. This is mine. I love him, so much. I can't even help myself. I need him. All of him."

Prussia looked absolutely sickened, and he pushed his paella away, so forcefully that it fell off the table and hit the floor with a loud crash. He didn't apologize, he just got up and stumbled out the door. France remained, eyes locked on Spain.

"You need help. You aren't stable anymore, you're going to eventually drive Romano into insanity with you!" he shouted, holding out his hand. Spain slapped it away, no longer smiling. It was over, all of it. He didn't need these nations, these so-called friends. All he needed was himself, and Romano. That's all.

"I think you should leave, _amigo_. Don't bother coming back. I assure you, Romano will be fine," Spain said calmly, pointing to the door. France opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head, and left. Then, it was silence. There was no sound apart from Spain's own heavy breathing. He felt happy, frustrated, and upset all at once.

It was time to visit his little tomato.

* * *

><p>When there was a knock at the door, Veneziano almost ignored it. He was feeding his brother, and he was sure that Romano's favorite pasta recipe would get him talking again. But when the knocks persisted, he sighed and put the bowl down. "Hang on, <em>fratello<em>. I'm just going to answer the door, okay?"

No response. But then, Veneziano wasn't really expecting one. He skipped to the door, opening it and gasping. It was big brother Spain! He hugged him tightly, squealing delightfully. "Big brother! Finally you have come to visit! Ah, I knew you would come eventually! Oh, Romano will be so happy to see you!"

Spain hugged the smaller nation back, smiling. Veneziano was always good at making him feel better. The northern Italy just had that power. "_Hola_, Veneziano. I'm sorry for visiting so late. Is anyone else here?"

Veneziano shook his head, his hair curl bobbing cheerfully. "Nope! Germany and Japan left a while ago, so it's only me and _fratello_! Ah, it's actually very lucky that you're here, I need to go out and get some more food! Romano ate it all!" He paused. "Well, I ate it all, but he had some too! Do you mind watching _fratello_ for me? I don't want him getting thirsty or anything. Plus, one of his cuts could reopen again!"

The Spaniard chuckled, patting the other's head. "_Sí_, I would love to. Take all the time you need."

The excitable nation brightened, then yelled toward the steps, "I'm going out, _fratello_! Don't worry, someone is here to see you!" He gave Spain another hug, before leaving the house.

Spain watched him go, waiting until he was really gone to go upstairs. He walked slowly, thinking of all the things he was going to say to Romano. He opened the bedroom door, the smile on his face growing. "_Hola_, _mi tomate_."

Immediately, Romano responded. He started to tremble, panting and gasping fervently. His eyes didn't leave the ceiling however. How rude of him, not looking at his guest. Spain approached him, and hissed into his ear, "Look at me while I'm talking to you."

The nation obeyed, his eyes reluctantly shifting over to stare at him. Spain smiled at him, and it was such a kind, genuine smile that some of Romano's fear disappeared. Maybe he was better now. He had to be. After all that, he couldn't still be psychotic, right? "Oh, my poor Roma. Did I really do this to you?" His rough, calloused fingers ran down the injured nation's face, in a way that didn't hurt his wounds, but made it all feel a bit better.

Romano opened his mouth, his tears blurring the sight of his beloved ex-caretaker. "Spain..." he croaked, reaching a bandaged arm out. Spain took his hand, kissing all of his fingers, giving the one without a nail extra attention.

"Forgive me, Romano. Forgive me...I was a fool. I went mad, and I almost didn't recover. But I realize...you don't deserve such cruelty. Not at all. I...I went too far with trying to fix you. I should've stopped earlier, and you would've still been so obedient. My actions were hideous, and I know this. Please...I'm sorry." His emerald eyes pierced the other nation, and Romano was hesitant to forgive him. He was a monster, there wasn't a single doubt about that. He would always want to hurt him.

Yet, Romano sobbed and opened up his arms, holding on to Spain tightly as they embraced. He loved this man, he loved him so much. He didn't want him to leave, because then who would love him the same way? Romano had came to the conclusion that he was simply unlovable, to everyone but Spain. He never left him, he always returned to the Italian nation. Romano needed him, or he would truly perish.

"You jerk...you really hurt me this time...you fucking bastard," wailed Romano, though his words sounded more like his usual grumpiness than actual hatred. Everything seemed normal again, and it secretly frightened both of them terribly. What would happen? How would the others react? What were they doing to each other?

"_Lo siento, mi tomate_," Spain cooed, kissing every inch of the Italian's face, lingering slightly on Romano's chapped lips. He nuzzled the smaller nation's bruised cheek lovingly, savoring the embarrassing grumble he got in return.

"You better not do that shit again. Ever!"

"I won't."

"Do you promise?" Romano sounded nervous as he asked this, his voice quivering just a bit. It was just so cute. Spain kissed him passionately, until both of them were out of breath and panting.

"I promise, Romano. Cross my heart and hope to die."

Promises are easily broken. At the time, Spain and Romano knew this all too well.

But as long as they were in love, this seemed just fine.

* * *

><p><strong> THE END THAT'S IT I'M DONE<strong>

**So in the end nothing is okay and I still can't write angst. Cheers. **

**This was a ton of fun. Hope you guys enjoyed this as well. **

**I'm actually planning to write another Hetalia horror story sometime soon. Think I'm cut out? **

**Also, as a last note, don't interpret ANY of this as a healthy, adorable romance. I mean, I think Spain and Romano WOULD have a healthy relationship, but it is in no way stable in this story wow. **

**That's all. Thanks for reading. **


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